


Phantom of the Soundtrack

by Archangel_Beth



Series: Superior Soap Opera [2]
Category: In Nomine
Genre: F/M, Gen, Superior Soap Opera
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-26 19:25:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18184727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archangel_Beth/pseuds/Archangel_Beth
Summary: A ficlet and a couple of drabbles on the premise that the Grigori Archangel of Song would be likecatnipfor the Impudite Prince of the Media.(This stands alone, but is also "canon" for the Superior Soap Opera.)





	1. That Voice Which Calls to Me

* * *

## That Voice Which Calls to Me

 

The Seneschal wasn't in his office. Didn't even seem to be in the _Tether_ , for that matter. And it wasn't like a Seneschal -- wasn't like any demon, but Seneschals proved their worth to get their positions -- to keep a Prince waiting.

The Tether was dark -- dark of the night, of course, and some clever DJ had left a recording to go all night with the songs played, instead of being there personally.

So he flipped an instantiation down to the Hearts, standing there in the DJ's room, listening to the music and tapping a foot idly to the beat. Catchy, popular stuff -- okay, most of it was popular last week, or even last month, but not bad for the 2am crowd. _In Hell, he strode past bowing sycophants and got to the Heart. He picked it up_ (*taptaptap* maybe a remake would catch some attention? make a note) _and did not wince against the stinging. But when he looked into its dimflickering depths, there was nothing but darkness. No sense of the location._

And on Earth, he scowled and shoved his hands in his pockets, thinking. Right. Some other Superior had the Seneschal and was shielding it. Interrogation, betrayal, redemption (betrayal of the highest sort), or assignation -- no telling.

And he'd have to waste his personal time to go sort it out. Bah. He reached out and turned off the music.

It didn't turn off.

 _Oooookay._ He turned off the outgoing feed, too, and nevermind that the phones might light up with a few peeved 2am calls.

The song, in defiance of the recording that was still and silent, continued. Ended. Another began.

His own Soundtrack echoed it, providing the ultimate in surround sound.

This Tether had a sound stage downstairs, for live performances.

"Dammit, Eli..." he muttered, not-slamming the door only because it would mess with the Image he was putting on. _Fine. The rogue Archangel's around. Gotta be._ He brightened up a little. _Maybe he wants to join up, finally? Gotta give him a good pitch..._

He was rubbing his hands together -- not smirking like a villain, but thoughtful like a producer -- by the time he got to the downstairs sound stage. He opened the door into the glassed-in technician's room, the producer's room, where a band's fate or destiny could be decided while that band played their little hearts out beyond, not knowing a thing.

His Seneschal, bound in cables but not gagged, was on the floor, facing him. The Djinn looked relieved to see his Prince -- which was something of a good sign.

On a stool, not facing the microphone for it, a woman sat. She was wearing some kind of tattered RenFaire outfit, all ribbons and multicolored antique-style skirts, but her dark hair was military-cut, maybe half an inch long, and ruffled.

And she sang. She sang like an angel, she sang like a demon. She sang like Christine at the Opera. He wasn't even paying attention to _what_ she sang. But damn all Heaven's prejudice, he knew quality when he saw it.

And when the words trailed off, he stood up and applauded. "Baby, baby! I can make you a star! You're wonderful! You're great! You gotta stick with me, babe!"

She turned her head then, and her eyes reflected the static in his glasses. She didn't answer. She only opened her mouth, and sang again, slowly. He knew what it was, knew he couldn't stop it. And knew...

"You're not Eli." _Who th'? Doesn't matter._ He wanted her. Wanted her for _his_ , wanted her like a Djinn wanted its obsession. All his clever scripts deserted him. "Wait! Wait! I gotta talk to you! Wait! _Please!_ "

He reached out his hand, tried to sing the Shields that might keep her from going, but the threads were sucked out of his mouth, sucked out of his _mind_ , and she vanished.

He stood there, while his Soundtrack hissed and crackled static in his soul, and _wanted_ what he didn't have.

Then he turned his head a little, looked at his Djinn. "Damn angels. Can't appreciate a good performance, eh?"

The Djinn nodded. "Thassright, m'Lord Prince!"

"Good, good," Nybbas muttered, making his way out of the room to untie the Seneschal. And something inside him raged that he had been left behind.


	2. Drabble Continuations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second drabble prompted by LJ-user chorale.

* * *

  
**Thirty Dimes In the Jukebox**  


 

Nybbas didn't think he was being stalked. But after his Servitor left, he stuck around in the restaurant, soaking in the multitude of televisions studding the walls.

They flickered and went out. Beyond the murmur of complaint from the diners, beyond the alarm and annoyance of the waitstaff, he could hear the greeter saying, "Ma'am, you'll have to leave. We can't serve you if you're not wearing shoes."

The decorative jukebox in the front began playing, and Nybbas whipped around to look.

Someone's tattered dress was vanishing behind the closing doors, and the music was the song of an angel.

 

* * *

  
**Meet Me Halfway Across the Sky**  


 

It's said... if you dig deep enough, in the Lowest Hells, you'll break into the Highest Heavens.

It's said... if you walk far enough into the Farthest Marches, you'll come 'round and see the other Tower.

It's said... somewhere on Earth, there's a two-sided mirror, and what you see depends on where you stand.

 

Which all means approximately nothing, unless you happen to be an angel (or demon) who desperately wants the Other Side to be just a little closer.

But don't tell the Demon Prince of the Media as he chases a Song, Soundtrack slaved to her voice.


End file.
